Why Should I Trust You
by PurpleYin
Summary: SaviSnow (Savitar/Caitlin) oneshots. Ch 6 up - an unredeemed Savitar meets Caitlin Snow. He honestly never expected to come face to face with her, not in this part of the loop at least. He's spent too long out of her presence to know her as well as the other him would. "You're not destined to die," he says with some spite, because she doesn't get to check out of this story.
1. These Are The Things I Could Do Without

**A/N** : I find SaviSnow rather fascinating and there's not much around for this ship so I wanted to contribute to it. I'm working on a long multichaptered story for them right now but wanted to get some shorter pieces out in the meantime, which is what this work is for. By definition these will all be canon divergent AUs. It's open ended for any oneshots that occur for them as I want to work on writing shorter things again. If you have suggestions/prompts for SaviSnow do let me know, I might be inspired. :)

Inspiration for this chapter came from Mari M's fanvid "I'm broken Barry/Killer frost❄" over on youtube.

This oneshot assumes Caitlin never fully became Frost and that Savitar accepted help offered to him by Team Flash.

* * *

 **These Are The Things I Could Do Without**

He's always so wound up but even as she shouts at him - frustrated beyond belief that he's bringing up her powers again - she can tell he's holding back. He replies with the cutting remarks expected of him. He raises his voice but he doesn't let go, he doesn't open up.

They saved him and he never shows his appreciation. They offered him a home and he lurks in the shadows still, not willing to take the place they've made for him. He's stalled here, no longer alone but just as broken.

"If you hate it so much here why don't you leave?" she huffs out as she's stepping up to him, showing she isn't afraid. She's never been afraid of him, only of herself, of who she was destined to be around him. But she knows she's not that ice cold version of herself Barry saw in the future. That headline never came true, same as all the others. They diverted their lives from that tragedy, moving forward into this reality where he's not an enemy but not really an ally either.

"You could be so much more than this," he says, palms up, spreading out as he indicates first to her, then more widely to the labs in general.

Why is he talking about _her_? He can't be saying he's staying because of her, can he? The person he remembers working with in the future is the person she's never going to be, not anymore. His being saved destroyed that timeline. She might have that potential in her but she won't allow it to break her further apart. She has to heal stronger than that and come back from the darkness inside her. With that she's doing better than him at least.

He chooses to step closer in absence of her responding, his voice dipping lower, "Frost had more power than you could imagine. She was the one person who _truly_ had it in her to end me. _If_ she'd wanted that."

She thinks at first he's talking about what she could do if she tried harder to utilise the powers she grapples with. Despite all she knows she could do, her intent remains to leash these abilities for fear of losing control completely. But then her mind catches up with the rest of what he's implying. Frost was his biggest threat. Logically he should have ended her as soon as possible, unless he was a fan of keep your enemies closer. She isn't sure that is it though.

Savitar doesn't rein in the ruthless streak Barry is undoubtedly capable of – like the anger he'd shown them in response to Eobard Thawne, and to Zoom, hurting those he'd loved. Savitar embodies it, had burned with a rage that had nearly consumed him until they'd managed to pull him back from the brink. That's part of the reason he's benched, not trusted on official Team Flash business until he shows more restraint. She'd assumed that was why he'd taken to annoying her with repeated demands to train her; his boredom and his need to get in on the action even if it's only her versus him, barely a challenge except in the initial task of convincing her to go along with it.

"Why didn't you kill her?" she blurts it out, unable to stop her morbid curiosity winning over tact or common sense.

She can see by the slight widening of his eyes that he doesn't expect that question. He shifts his gaze down for a moment, takes in a deep breath as if steadying himself. When he looks back up to her he seems marginally less tense, something around the eyes softer than she is used to seeing on him.

"She was the only person who didn't reject me."

She understands then what Frost meant to him. There's the unadmitted corollary - Frost was the last tie he'd had to who he used to be, one he wasn't willing to sever. He'd never been able to completely cut Barry Allen out of him. Killer Frost had looked to Savitar for acceptance and he had looked to her for it in return.

"I'm not her," Caitlin replies and it comes out more defiant than intended.

"No," he says briefly, clearly acknowledging that truth. He takes a step forward, very deliberately entering her personal space, continuing on, his tone becoming husky, "Like I said before, you could be more."

Unexplainably her heart skips a beat, the situation awakening a desire she's never felt before in his presence. Her breathing is ragged all of a sudden and she wants to close that remaining distance so badly but he's gone almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, leaving only an empty space in front of her and too many questions she isn't sure she will find the strength to ask anytime soon.


	2. Someplace Else

**A/N:** Currently got 9 other chapters/oneshots in the works for this fic but for some reason this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone and gave me such feels writing it.

AU where Caitlin's got her powers under control, Savitar accepted help and has been a member of the team for some time. Set a few years down the line at least.

As for the theme of the oneshot, it might not be quite what anyone is expecting out of this fic (usually I write much angst) because it's very subtle ship and ends up remarkably domestic/fluffy for me. It's also Iris POV and has minor Barry/Iris as part of it – sorry for anyone put off by that. Future chapters probably won't be anything like this, it's very random but I hope someone enjoys it even though it feels like the plot bunny no one was gonna be asking for other than my weird brain.

* * *

 **Someplace Else**

Caitlin being pregnant is a surprise, though no one likes to asked if it was planned. She never mentions who is responsible, whether it was a one night stand or someone intentionally lending a hand to her parenthood. As Caitlin points out, they do know who the mother is, that's what matters. They assume the rest isn't important.

Cisco, of course, plays up how sad he is not to have been asked to contribute his genes as the sperm donor, " How could you pass up the opportunity for these luscious locks, not to mention the ability to cross dimensions?"

"What's wrong with _my_ locks?" Caitlin asks pointedly, faking mild outrage before bursting into a grin herself, " Besides, we don't know how inheritance of metahuman genetic traits works." _Yet_ is the unspoken word. Caitlin is the first of them to have kids, the test case. It sets them on edge a bit, not knowing how it will work out with Caitlin's powers, but Iris is grateful they'll know more by the time she and Barry might have their own children.

Everyone gets rather too protective of Caitlin, much to her annoyance. Iris is sympathetic; being relegated to desk duty for the remaining five months must be bad enough without the guys fawning over her. Each of them does it in their own way at least.

Cisco starts on names far, far too early and Iris knows he's been mocking up superhero onesies in his spare time, as well as improved gadgets most parents probably would kill for. Although she's not entirely sure they're childsafe ones right now but he _has_ got months to figure it out.

Other than his usual helpfulness, Barry has gone into research mode, reading everything known to man about either childcare or metahuman genetics – he keeps leaving article printouts and books with heaps of post-it notes in on Caitlin's desk. At times the piles get pretty unwieldy. Barry sometimes forgets other people can't read anywhere near as fast as him and she has to remind him to at least condense the relevant sections down to a more easily digestible amount if he wants them to be useful and actually get read.

Harry insists on personally double and triple checking Caitlin's medical data when he visits – definitely more frequently these days - obsessing over any slight fluctuation from the norm. He's practically her personal physician, despite that role already being taken, and Caitlin's mother keeping a close eye on things with her daughter too. By the end of it Caitlin is probably going to be sick to death of being poked and prodded. She seems plenty testy around each weekly checkup as it is, but it's a relief nothing untoward is ever revealed. All is well with baby Snow.

She always finds Joe sharing another anecdote with Caitlin about raising his kids but those moments at least seems to be reassuring to her – her dad is the best and she loves that he's taken Caitlin under his wing too.

Savitar doesn't say much of anything about any of the goings on. He has no teasing comments or dry wit about the unorthodox situation this presents. Unlike from some of the others - Harry namely - there's no admonishments about taking her health seriously, as if Caitlin doesn't already know what she should be doing.

But Iris does see him standing closer to Caitlin, standing by. It's like he's waiting in the wings, ready to do anything he's asked, although the only time she sees Caitlin ask anything of him is when she's seven months pregnant and too exhausted to get herself home. He'd had one of the overnight beds and all she might need setup in one of the conference rooms off the Cortex in a blink of an eye, with a helping hand to get her out of the chair too. Savitar is simply there for Caitlin, unobtrusively, assuming she can manage unless she shows any signs she can't, and Iris figures maybe that's the biggest comfort.

Even with how annoying some of well meaning things can get, Caitlin has so much support. Less of a 'it takes a village,' more of a 'it takes a team' in their case – their extended found family rallying behind her, ready for anything the future brings. As it turns out the future brings a healthy baby boy, weighing 7 pounds 2 ounces, after a mere two hours in labor.

Technically, they're not meant to have this many visitors in her room at once but Barry, Wally and Jesse had conspired to sneak themselves in along with a plus one each. The room is brimming with people clamouring to congratulate Cait and get a peek at the chubby cheeked child who they are so so ready to meet after months of waiting anxiously.

Visitors rotate into the position by the bedside, giving way to the next one to get a closeup of their new addition. Everyone is a little teary eyed but jubilant. Joe and Harry are both practically cooing over the baby right now. Cisco is busy making faces at the kid from his position at the end of the bed. Barry's had his turn but keeps occasionally looking from the baby back to her, as if to suggest he's giving serious consideration to them having one someday soon and Iris can't say she minds that exactly, though she's not quite there herself yet. Wally and Jesse are waiting patiently, sometimes waving lightly from the side to try to catch the baby's attention.

The only exception to the joy in the scene Iris sees is Savitar, who like usual - like he has been all these months of waiting - is holding back. He has a strange expression on his face, one that Iris feels she ought to recognise but even if she does, if she knows it on Barry, it seems foreign to Savitar. She watches how his chest rises and falls rapidly and can't tell at first what has him so agitated. Then she sees his hands shaking at his side – not vibrating, just shaking as if he's nervous or scared – and along with the intensity of the look he has, and where it is directed, she finally realizes what it means. He's overwhelmed; Savitar is looking in awe, and fear, at his son.

"Hey, I think it's about time you said hello," Iris whispers to Savitar before she manhandles him in an effort to drag him over to the bed with her, forcing him to take the steps he can't seem to will himself to. He doesn't resist, following in sort of a daze.

When they get close enough she elbows Harry out of the way with an apology that his time is up, though she's only half-sorry really and throwing a glare to shut up his protestations. Harry knows what's good for him, meaning he stops grouching about it more or less immediately, accepting whatever this is is happening. Her dad looks curious at the development but goes along with it, shuffling down, shooing the others to make room.

As he approaches mother and child, Savitar's eyes grow comically wide, his attention captured solely by the baby. For a moment Iris thinks he's forgotten to breathe too, until she spots him take a shaky but deep breath again. Standing there, he's speechless. She wonders what it feels like and thinks she might be terrified too, like he'd first appeared, if she'd created a whole other life. Maybe one day she will know, but that's not today - this is his day, and Caitlin's day, even if no one else ever knows it.

" His name is Charlie-" Caitlin announces, though no sooner has she than Cisco interrupts, indignant at being kept out of the naming loop.

"-wait, what? I thought you didn't have a name picked out! I thought we had an agreement I got first shout on the deets, priveleged info for _the_ best friend-"

Caitlin rolls her eyes, shakes her head in amusement, and continues on, " I think you'll find I made no such agreement. _Anyway_ , this is Charlie-"

"-Charlie Henry Snow," Caitlin says firmly, and no one can miss her beaming up at Savitar as she does so. So much for no one else ever knowing...

Iris can't tell if that's simply gratitude they're seeing from her to him or the promise of something more that might have been building in the background all this while, whilst they were distracted with other more important seeming matters. This bombshell brings up a whole heap of other questions that Iris is just hoping she can convince the others to leave for another day, because this is theirs, and whatever ever else happens or doesn't happen, she couldn't be happier for them both.

* * *

 **End note:** Upcoming oneshots ( **beware S4 spoilers** ):

\- Savitar rejects his destiny and asks for help getting him out of the speedforce (including elements of 4x01).  
\- Savitar comforts Caitlin whilst Barry is in the speedforce.  
\- Savitar gets his own personal powerless Groundhog Day.  
\- Caitlin is kidnapped, Savitar takes it badly.  
\- Savitar and Caitlin bond over lost loves and drinks.  
\- original 3x19 timeline AU of what happened in 4x18 (not redeemed Savitar).  
\- Caitlin is gone and Savitar won't accept it.  
\- Savitar's paradox fix fails and Caitlin won't let that be.  
\- role reversed SaviSnow


	3. Climbing The Walls

**A/N:** This one shot assumes Caitlin didn't fully become Frost, but does have powers, and Savitar took the help offered to him, a little earlier than on the show so HR is still about. However, they still used the speedforce bazooka to free Jay, meaning the Speedforce storm happened just like at the end of S3 and Barry had to go away to stabilise it. Some minor spoilers for 4x01 included.

It's sort of angsty (also warning for PTSD mentioned), plus angry interactions, with eventual hurt/comfort-ness. More of a friendship/pre-ship piece but I do hope people enjoy.

* * *

 **Climbing The Walls**

She tells herself she's okay, but there are times when she can't pretend for a second longer and it overwhelms her.

Barry is gone and everything is _not_ okay.

Cisco's been going on missions with Wally lately, fielding the crimewave that's sprung up since people realised the Flash isn't around anymore, and when he's not out, he's working non-stop on a way to get Barry back. Iris is barely holding on, she'd tried to step up, helping coordinate with Wally and Cisco out there, but having Savitar skulking around is not helping her cope with the loss of Barry.

It's not helping any of them in truth. He looms in the background, his figure cut almost exactly like Barry from a distance, like he's haunting them. It's a painful tease; if he actually let them get close enough they'd be confronted with the evidence that he's not Barry. He's a broken shadow of a man, who barely interacts with the team now that his speed is gone. Losing his powers was the price of fixing the paradox and he resents them for it. Some days she sees the way Iris looks over to him and wonders if Iris resents him for being the one who got to stay, who has to play at Barry for them to keep up the pretense that he is alive and well enough.

HR's transmogrifier does its job to make him look like his former self – not that he uses it at the labs - and he turns up to CCPD dutifully doing the part-time work negotiated after they'd fabricated a medical setback to explain his abrupt change of persona. PTSD, surfacing years after either trauma they could legitimately pin it on – his mothers murder, the lightning strike. There was his fathers death too but that had been considered inexplicable, rather than the murder it was, because they couldn't risk tying Barry too closely to Zoom in case people cared to ask why. It's an irony that there's so much else that has happened to Barry unofficially, off the radar of what they could admit to Singh, and even more to Savitar, to actually explain it. The PTSD probably isn't even a lie at this point.

She tries to dampen her emotions, retain control, so she can keep her powers that way too. Even with tears brimming, threatening to fall any second, she attempts to modulate her breathing, counts to ten, then twenty – anything to stop herself from properly falling apart. If that happens she might have to get the necklace on in a hurry and she doesn't want to lose the progress she's made so far in staying in control for so long. It means something and she doesn't want to give it up, she needs to be strong, just like the others are trying to be as well.

As she takes a slightly stunted breath, she finally feels the tears well over, tracing down her cheeks. She takes another shaky breath and attempts to quell the urge to sob outright. That's when she hears the footsteps, relatively quiet but distinctive in the silence of the lab. She turns around to find Savitar striding through the door with an unusual level of intent, though she has no idea what he means to do, why this is when he chooses to come out of the darkness he's generally so keen on sticking to.

He stops on the other side of the lab bench from her and picks up one of Cisco's devices as if he's studying it, though only with vague interest, yet it's more interest than he's showing her. He is pointedly not looking at her and she wonders if he finds her crying unsettling. If he does, why is he here?

She knows Barry Allen so well but she's so far from understanding Savitar. Most of the time he engages people in conversation he puts everyone in a worse mood. It's hard to reconcile the man she knows – _knew_ \- with this version of him. The only thing Savitar seems to have in common with him so far is that, just like when she'd first met Barry, he brings out her anger. The difference is, this time, it isn't because she's worried about him.

"I miss him," she says, somewhat spitefully. He's chosen to be here, so if he can't deal with her being upset then she hopes he'll leave soon, let her be.

"And all you have is me," he replies, tipping his head to the side as he takes the time to scrutinise her visage, managing to catch her defiant glare and failing to react to it even an iota. He never seems to care about anyone except himself. " **Ordinary** , little, _old,_ me," he continues with, bitterness definitely creeping into his voice. Despite her annoyance with his presence she doesn't miss how self-deprecating his words are, the implication he's second-best and he knows it.

She uses the back of her hand to wipe away the evidence of her weakness, not comfortable feeling vulnerable in front of him. She half-expects him to mock her too. Maybe that's why she pre-emptively strikes at him, questioning his motives instead.

" **Do** we have you? Do you want to be here?" she asks bluntly, diverting all her emotion into the frustration he so easily inspires. She can't let herself get too worked up about him either, but it's a welcome distraction from her grief for the time being.

"I don't have anywhere else to be," he says, going suddenly more sullen than before. She sees him clench his jaw in response to his own admission and somehow it feels like it pains him to confess that but she still finds it hard to sympathise given what she knows about him. It isn't like her to lack in sympathy – he's unique in that regard.

Ever since they'd reached out to him, he'd acted entitled, like they owed him for some future trespasses they would never even make anymore. They'd saved him and it appeared he thought it was the bare minimum they could do. Getting him to agree to anything else after that, to help them in return, had been such an uphill battle, only made fractionally easier by his transparent desire for his previous life back. She isn't sure if he's ever going to forgive them for taking his powers, let alone any of the other things he remembers from his timeline, and she hates they're being held accountable for actions they have no control over – wrongdoings that exist only in his head now.

His attitude makes her second-guess whether forgiving him is the right choice, but she still wants to believe in him because she sometimes, very occasionally, sees a hint of her friend in him, however briefly. When she thinks of everything he has been through it does cause her distress, theoretically. It's just that every time he opens his mouth, what she hears fail to feel like Barry; he's been too far twisted from the man in her memories. When he's in front of her - scowl on his face and ever ready to lash out at them for the hurt he perceives they've done, or will do - the rational part of her that says he's suffered, that she should be at least a little considerate, flies out of the window and her hackles are raised.

Today is no different. She's hurting, and she doesn't have the patience for his long nursed pain, nor is she willing to stand his adding to her more acute one. There is a touch of coldness that drives her to confront him, stalking around the lab bench to square up with him, hands on her hips and staring straight at him unrepentantly. She recognises the danger as she does it, and she quickly works to lock her icy fury away, turning the thoughts around and making sense of them under the guise of this being logical and a long time coming; something he ought to answer for, rather than his constant questioning of them.

"But you don't _have_ to be here, and maybe you **shouldn't** be, _unless_ you want to be. We chose you. Now it's your turn - do you choose us?"

She expects him to either let loose the start of a verbal volley between them, or to sulkily extract himself from the situation. He does neither.

She's stunned as she feels his arms close around her. He may not be fast anymore but it feels like it happens very quickly to her, rapidly enough her brain can't catch up with his gesture. The embrace is slightly awkward as she doesn't know what to say or do, until she lets herself relax a little, realising his movement is unexpectedly friendly; she's not under any threat like her mind has come to expect from him.

Everything she knows to be true says he isn't Barry Allen, but as she lets instinct take over and she hugs him back, blinking back fresh tears as she does, it feels so very much like she is hugging one of her best friends. He might not be the friend she remembers holding her like this, but this feels like the first step he has taken to move forward to being one, opening up the possibility they could be friends again some day. With the way he reacts to her habitual reassuringly stroking his back - tightening his embrace, tucking his face close against her hair - she honestly doesn't know which of them needed this more.

She scarcely hears what he whispers into her neck as they stand there clinging to each other, but she could swear it sounds like, "I've missed you."


	4. Lose Everything But

**A/N:** AU details for this chapter are pretty similar to before - Caitlin never fully becomes Frost, Savitar accepts help from Team Flash, but also Barry has still been to the future as in 3x19. It's set long enough after all that for Savitar to be part of the team but he's still rather dysfunctional, especially with Barry.

Be warned, Savitar is an antagonistic git to Barry in this (and also misappropriating a possible Marilyn Monroe quote) so there's much snark, arguing and Barry not being at his best either. Savisnow is hinted at but not the direct focus. There's also Savifrost implied and Barry/Iris briefly mentioned a few times since Barry is with Iris in this much like in canon.

Written for ScottSalvatore23's suggestion of - "Barry gets jealous when Caitlin defends Savitar and angry when he finds out SaviFrost was together in the future yet he never got the chance to be with Caitlin Snow."

* * *

 **Lose Everything But**

There's been a feeling building for some time, a feeling that creeps up on him whenever he sees Savitar looking at Caitlin. There is no one moment that is more meaningful than any other; it's like an irritation, a sore spot rubbed over and over until it is raw.

It bugs him more that he is the only one aware of it, the only one fast enough to catch the hints, the feelings that flit across the man's face when he turns to her. Barry doesn't even know what to make of it, what it is the expressions - that are barely there before they are gone - are exactly. He just knows it disturbs him somehow, a niggling wrongness at what he recognises subconsciously.

Savitar purposefully conceals anything that could be seen as weakness. He can so easily seethe with anger, regale them with bitter retorts and purposefully lets slip his smug amusement at times, but any other emotions appear to be quickly suppressed by him. Barry spies there is something Savitar isn't willing to admit about Caitlin and he doesn't want to know what it is, he just wants it to be gone, for this sickness, that overcomes him when he sees it, to withdraw.

But it worsens over time because even though Savitar is just as good as ever at blanking before others see, Caitlin isn't. She starts to look at Savitar like she cares, in more than just her capacity as a doctor - Savitar's doctor _too -_ or as a good hearted person. Caitlin seems happy to see Savitar and that makes something in Barry wind up tightly; it triggers an ironic fear of being replaced.

Except it isn't quite like that. Caitlin is still the same with him, it takes nothing away from their friendship, and yet she is becoming something more around Savitar, something in her freer when he is present as well.

He should be happy Savitar can fit in with the team in some way.

He _is_ happy Savitar and Cisco have found a way to bond over the competition of online gaming, even if there are frequent accusations fielded about speedforce cheating that get vehemently denied by the speedster. He _is_ happy that Joe and Iris have managed to forgive him for his previous menaces and sometimes invite Savitar for dinner at the West house, providing Savitar with some semblance of family once more. Barry _is_ happy that Harry and Savitar work well together with their strangely productive fights, as they snarkily amp each other closer to a scientific epiphany.

But when it comes to Caitlin and Savitar it doesn't sit right with him how they've nearly effortlessly formed an understanding of each other. They still argue heaps, Caitlin perfectly willing to call Savitar out for areas he is failing in, but compared to how he is with everyone else Savitar tends towards easy agreement with her. And Caitlin is ever ready to help him, an almost endless supply of sympathy for whatever teething problems he is having in his return to heroing.

Objectively, it's good. Savitar needs people to show him the right path. So why does it make Barry uncomfortable? Is it because he feels like Savitar doesn't deserve it? The unwavering support. That seems wrong to wish though, for someone who is, at heart, him.

Neither of them are any less deserving of the friendship that was built up over years, the friendship they _both_ remember with Cait. It's what came after that that makes it hard to accept Savitar – the darkness and fury that he'd given in to, where as Barry never had and vows he never will. Somehow Caitlin sees past those things to the pain Savitar is in and she wants to help. He can't fault her for it. Caitlin has Savitar's back and it shouldn't hurt to see that when Barry has so many others who have his. Somehow it still does; a battle he's lost without knowing he was fighting it.

* * *

"Did you have to be so hard on him?" Caitlin asks testily. She crosses her arms in a huff and waits impatiently whilst Barry tidies up the chaos caused in the medbay by the aftermath of the team's latest outing. He doesn't have to do it but it takes him all of five seconds. It's an excuse to avoid this very conversation. It's also an attempt to mitigate the scorn he's surely earned from her.

The correct answer to her question is no. Barry isn't going to admit that though. It doesn't matter that Savitar hadn't done anything he wouldn't have if he had been in the same position. What had spurned him to be such a hard ass in the face of Savitar's many injuries had been something else.

There's the usual annoyance she can predict - Barry's frustrated Savitar failed to tell Cisco and him the plan he'd made last minute, lone wolfing it in a move so typical of him. The difference today had been Savitar practically willing to sacrifice himself, leaving himself vulnerable to the brunt of the attacks in his mission to rescue a busload of civilians.

Barry should be proud to know Savitar is still capable of that selflessness. A part of him _is_ relieved to find that out, and maybe at some point they will talk about this judder of progress, but a larger part of him is concerned with what else he has learnt today, what the unguarded gaze of a concussed Savitar has left so plain.

Savitar had been battered and bruised, multiple shrapnel wounds already healing around the shards of debris when they'd brought him back. His head injury had been the least of the immediate concerns, but of course it was the hardest to predict leading to Caitlin fussing over it, trying to give a neuro exam in between the quite agonising extraction of the metal that required cutting out by that time. Savitar did his best to grin and bear it, but it was clear he wasn't with it, more so than simply the pain would explain. His focus wandered and he kept slipping into, and out of, flashtime inexplicably, vibrating in the bed unpredictably, making his treatment more difficult. Eventually Caitlin got Savitar to focus on her, on the sound of her voice, on her hand wrapped around his to ground him.

Barry dug the rest of the fragments out, plenty familiar with how to do so – Caitlin had long ago trained him in procedures he might need to perform on himself in a pinch. And in between each extraction he'd watched Savitar staring up at Caitlin, for once his expression was open. There was absolute trust in her, a feeling Barry knew well – the faith she would save him – but there was more underneath that, a tenderness Barry wished had remained hidden. Things hadn't gone well after that.

Things probably weren't going to go any better in round 2. Round 2, however, was going to be private, not an argument where he danced around what he really wanted to talk about. He leaves Caitlin without an answer and speeds off to find the still concussed doppelganger of his who hadn't been willing to stick around after the worst of his wounds were dealt with.

* * *

It isn't hard to find him. Savitar always retreats to places Barry would prefer to avoid.

This time it's their childhood home, which stands empty except for a few pieces of furniture left behind by the previous occupant. He'd bought the house a while back, with some of the inheritance left by the Wells estate, from a vivacious woman named Sherry for whom two murders in the house was a little too much to get over. Even though he can't seem to let go of this link to his past, he doesn't exactly blame her. This is still the last place Barry wants to be, which is probably why Savitar retreats to here, some kind of spite that if Barry must follow he'll suffer too.

"What are you doing?"

"Recovering," Savitar says flippantly, sprawled across an abandonned couch.

Barry has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat as he steps over the threshold of the living room, over the space his father occupied as he died. He won't let this get to him. He won't let Savitar succeed in his mind games.

"What are you doing _with Caitlin,_ " Barry reiterates pointedly.

Savitar sits up then, interest piqued it seems, but he also seems to regret it, holding his head and looking distinctly queasy. For Barry that's a small victory, to have caused Savitar discomfort, considering how he feels just standing in this room.

"Making friends. You wanted me to, no? I'm meant to be...the affable...amiable, Barry Allen, right," he says in a stilted fashion, struggling a touch with getting the words out but still managing just fine in lacing them with the appropriate level of scorn. Mock concern follows from him,"Oh, wait, did I do too good an impression? You want your friend back now."

Barry sighs. Savitar never makes anything easy for him. Which doesn't make him want to cut him any slack, so Barry cuts to the chase instead, no desire to beat around the bush now they have no audience. "You're in love with her."

He sees Savitar clench his jaw at his words but he then sets his face into a clear mask of incredulity. He doesn't get up, like Barry expects. He's often eager to be toe to toe for 'discussions' like this, trying to unsettle Barry as much as possible. Savitar works to get him off kilter when they disagree even remotely. He's still petty like that, attempting to lord it over Barry any way he can, probably overcompensating for the inadequacy he feels at being a time remnant, at being a broken copy as he puts it.

"Do you even hear yourself, Barry?" Savitar starts, somehow imbuing the question with his own brand of scathing cockiness, " _Iris_ is the love of your life. The love of _my_ life too, or was it the hate of my life? It was hard to tell the difference for a while."

Barry draws a hand across his brow, frustrated and doing his best to ignore the blatant jab he knows Savitar intended as a distraction from the real issue.

"So, the way you were looking at Caitlin earlier wasn't love, that's what you're saying?"

Barry asks it in all seriousness, trying to keep his tone neutral and hoping, most likely futilely, for an honest answer.

"Why? Are you jealous?"

Barry rolls his eyes. The last thing he wants is for Savitar to get any inkling that he feels displaced. It might make Savitar feel better but Barry is in no mood to concede him that. Savitar takes his silence as invitation to continue in that direction anyway.

"If you're worried we have something that you don't, then you're right," he says matter-of-factly, like it's undeniable.

Barry narrows his eyes at this weird admission, unsure what he's suggesting.

"What are you talking about?"

Savitar becomes more animated with that prompt, a little too happy to elaborate on it for Barry's liking. "You have a past with Caitlin. I have more. I had her future, once upon a time."

Whatever worry Barry had held onto is released at this explanation because it turns out to be nothing of consequence.

"That's another timeline. And that wasn't Caitlin," he says with confidence.

But Savitar laughs at him for it, smirk edging on his lips as he finds what he wants to throwback against Barry's bold statement. "Caitlin. Frost. They're more alike than you think...and they're not as separate as you think either."

"You don't know what you're talking about, you're concussed."

Savitar purses his lips and shrugs amusedly in return. "Don't believe me? Think about it, _Barry_. Both steadfastly loyal. Both brilliant, sharp as a tack, quick under pressure. Plus-" he says holding up a finger in the air to make his point, "-you remember what you thought Caitlin was like at first. Brittle, cold. It was her protection, just like Frost is...was." Savitar says it all with the satisfaction of knowing Barry remembers the same as he does.

"What does that prove?"

"You don't know her, not like I do," Savitar replies, with that smirk of his returning at full force afterwards. Barry wants to wipe it off his face.

"At her worst you mean?" he snipes back.

Even that doesn't deter Savitar from his smugness. "If you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best. Think that applies here?"

It takes a ton of self control but Barry ignores his sass. Having had enough of Savitar's prattle, he decides to end this fool's quest. If Savitar wants to live in denial he can do so for all Barry cares. The longer he does that the better, so long as he keeps whatever it is to himself and saves everyone, Caitlin included, the drama that might otherwise ensure. Maybe she can be spared the heartache. Maybe the way she looks at Savitar isn't anything more...and Savitar is simply misguided, living too much in his past and the memories of a nonexistant future. Either way, time to leave.

He hears Savitar take a deep breath, like he's steeling himself for something, but Barry isn't prepared for his parting shot.

"You don't know what she wants, what she _likes._ "

He pauses his journey to the door, before turning back to see Savitar looking up at the ceiling, at nothing in particular, like he's fondly reminiscing. Then Savitar angles his head back towards Barry, fixing him with a hard stare that rankles Barry alongside the comment.

"What does that mean?" he demands.

"What's the matter Barry, I thought it didn't count if it was in another timeline."

Savitar is still staring at him, eyes piercing, challenging. He couldn't just leave it alone. He wants Barry to know where he stands. Wants him to be left with this doubt as to what is true, what is possible, what could be.

"You and her, you...and now you, what, want to recreate that? Is that your plan? Get Frost back?" Barry's fuming by the last question, bristling at the idea of a further betrayal, and Savitar merely looks peeved, like he has a tedious headache. If the shouting is aggravating his concussion he's doing a good job of hiding it.

"I don't _need_ Frost back," Savitar says, exasperated, getting up from his prone position to lean against the doorframe, "Haven't you been listening. Caitlin is Frost, Frost is Caitlin. There isn't one without the other. You don't get to pick and choose, Barry." Savitar actually has the audacity to look semi-outraged. Two can play at that game and Barry's feeling righteous right now.

"You promised her, the _other_ her, in the future, you'd _get rid_ of Caitlin. She sat in her cell at Iron Heights and _thanked_ you for it."

Finally Barry finds something that makes Savitar flinch with that. He can't tell what bothers him about it but it definitely hits a nerve. His reply is quieter, possibly regretful despite the assured words. "Caitlin was never gone. Caitlin was liberated. She just had different priorities."

"You turned her into a murderer!"

Savitar almost snarls at him in response, apparently baited enough to close the distance between them in his ire, getting within spitting distance. "And _you_ turned _yourself_ into a murderer. Proof it's in anyone if they're desperate enough."

"I thought you'd changed. I thought..." Barry doesn't finish his thought, Savitar pushing forward, hands against his chest shoving him back aggressively in bursts as he vents. It's nothing Barry can't take but it's a surprise.

"That you could control me? Make me into someone who if you squint _sort of_ looks like Barry Allen but never _too_ like Barry Allen, never a threat to what you have. You thought that you could carefully dole out scraps from your life to keep me satisfied. It kills you I had something you can't, doesn't it? That I could _still_ have that and you never will. You chose Iris. You don't get _her_ too. Who's second best now?"

He wants to punch Savitar. To erase that superior look evident on his face inches from his own. But Savitar is already swaying on his feet. He settles for roughly manhandling his unconscious form once he hits the floor in a faint. Barry should have caught him before he does but he's nowhere near that generous currently. He deposits him in the medbay, not daring to speak to the confused and concerned Caitlin waiting there, lest he say something he really shouldn't.

* * *

It is later, much later than he'd like, that Barry comes to terms with the revelations of that day. He spends a whole week avoiding both Caitlin and Savitar. Which means he spends a whole week avoiding explaining to Iris, to Cisco, to anyone else who notices his behaviour, why he's doing that. Being annoyed because of the mission mishap only goes so far to excuse it.

He tries to understand it the best way he knows how, to put himself in Savitar's shoes. He knows Savitar has lived with countless years of resentment and without so much of that which keeps Barry anchored. And yet somehow he has come home, has found enough peace to function in amongst that unrelenting emotional chaos. It shouldn't be much for Barry to live with knowledge of this one aspect he's to be denied, for this one potential he'd never explored to be something Savitar gets.

It shouldn't be that hard, but it's so different to face the prospect, not in another universe, but played out in front of him – of a Caitlin who will not only accept him, like he knows she would if they had ever been that to each other, but accept him having seen him at _his_ worst.

Barry loves Iris, but nevertheless the thought of Savitar and Caitlin haunts him, like a persistent reminder of a regret he'd long since let go of. He wonders if it will haunt him even half as much as seeing him with Iris must haunt Savitar. There's some anger that wells in him at the idea this might be a kind of revenge Savitar is playing out, but deep down he doesn't believe it is.

He knows it's real because he knows how he feels, how deep his need to be believed runs – one of the few balms for the trauma of his past is Iris accepting him completely as he is. Savitar must feel it too, all the more keenly for his rejection, and as much as it grates on Barry that Savitar has feelings for Caitlin, it's also a relief. An ease to his own guilt that Barry hasn't taken everything away from him if Caitlin might return his affections one day, when Savitar can admit to having any. He's not there yet but there is still hope in Savitar's life, some promise of better to aim for, something enough to hold onto and to keep him in the light.


	5. Making Time

**A/N** : Originally I was envisaging something like '5 times Cait and Savi bond over drinks and the 1 time they don't need to' but it diverted from that. Drinking is definitely a theme in this fic though - and not always healthy amounts - something they use as a prop to time spend together. Despite drunkness featuring this fic isn't really a humourous one, more melancholy.

Content warning for some of Savitar thoughts being quite depressed in parts briefly (edging on suicidal in one case) because the more he comes back to himself the more shame he feels about his actions, but it is overall hopeful and ending with him in a better place.

Since this is canon divergent, I'm going for a different take on the how to get a speedster drunk issue than S4 did. I cannot take credit for the idea of the medication Caitlin suggests, that came from another author who really knows their medical stuff, **RedQ** – I really recommend her writing. She often does very heavy whump fic for Barry, but also has a humour fic called " **There's Something About Barry "** which is where I saw that medicine crop up in. Also, if you like Savitar fic she has a fantastic alternative Savitar origin story called " **The Pawn** " (but be warned it is pretty harrowing).

Big thanks to shyesplease for betareading.

* * *

 **Making Time**

* * *

The time is long past when Caitlin should have gone home. He's spied her milling around the Cortex, making busy. She's been waiting for him to finish. He swipes the towel from nearby and sits down on the treadmill in lieu of anywhere else nearby, having broken a light sweat after training – he doesn't need to get faster but there's always an edge of competition between him and Barry, so he likes to try.

Caitlin and him are the only two around, and the way she's been all day, head in the clouds, he really does wonder why she hasn't left. He has a pretty good idea of what's been bothering her. He hears her get up again by the clack of her heels, but he judges by the duration and direction of the noise that she's gone to the medbay rather than stray further afield. She returns not to her desk, but to his room, holding two uncapped beers. She promptly sits down next to him and offers one.

"You know that does nothing for me."

Caitlin half shrugs like she doesn't care. "What about the taste?" she asks, but he doubts she cares about that either.

He raises an eyebrow yet takes the beer anyway, or else she'll be drinking both, which under other circumstances could be amusing, but not now. He doesn't feel like arguing about having a beer today.

He knows how it would go anyhow. He'd brush it off, she'd tell him he owes her, because she knows he feels he does, in the parts of him that are still rebelliously Barry Allen. He can never stop feeling that guilt. He'd masked the feeling with anger when he'd been on a path of vengeance, but he doesn't have that to fall back on now. Being here is making him soft again, vulnerable whilst those gaping wounds of his heal.

Overall, she doesn't treat him like he remembers her treating him as Barry. She's gotten a lot more blunt for his sake, adapting to his temperament. She doesn't let him get away with lies and excuses, things to cover up his pain and push people away. The others are learning this too, but Caitlin saw through him first: she has a headstart there.

He has a lot of memories, and there are a lot of memorable dates to go with them, but he still remembers what this date means – the singularity, the day he toyed with the idea of saving his mother and passed it up in favor of all the good he had in his life. Somehow he'd forgotten about that by Flashpoint, too consumed with fresh grief for his father.

They sit in silence, knee to knee, uncomfortable perched on the edge of the piece of equipment. Caitlin takes another swig, already near the end of her bottle, and then laughs. It comes out more like a snort, and she spews some her drink. He looks to her, incredulous, as she wipes her mouth, though he can see the amusement creasing her eyes.

"I lost the love of my life. You lost the love of your life. Another way we're alike."

His mind catches on the last sentence, wondering what is on the mental list she has created that is implied by it. They have a darkness in common, not that hers is often evident now she has Frost under control again. What else has she been comparing and contrasting about them? Why does it matter to her? Is it fear lying in the back of her mind, about how far she could go if she lost control? Is she looking to him for lessons on what not to do? He leaves the many questions be, he can contemplate this new development on his own time.

"Lost makes it sound like she's gone, not boning another more naive version of myself somewhere else in the city."

He sees her roll her eyes a little, most likely exasperated at his willfully misconstruing her comment.

"I _meant_ we both saw the people we love die in front of us."

"Here's to happy endings," he says sarcastically. He gets a swat at his head in return, easily deflected with his speed if he cared to, but he lets her have that for his choice to be obnoxious and vent a little of his bitterness.

He eyes her without moving his head, trying to be surreptitious about it - she doesn't seem upset, or at least no more than the rest of the day. There's a small teasing smile on her lips that makes him feel a touch grateful they can share something of their pain together, easing their burdens. Sometimes when he is with her he feels like he doesn't have to pretend; to be quite so thoroughly not Barry, nor to hide all the most glaring ways he really isn't anymore.

* * *

It's May 23rd and he's been on edge all day. Perhaps that's as much to do with the fact everyone has been on edge around him. Unusually, no jokes are cracked in his presence. There's an undercurrent that feels almost like fear – a reminder of what he is capable of. He keeps his head down, wishes he could forget, but there's no good amount of distance apart from time and it has been merely a year since they'd broken with fate.

He knows Caitlin hasn't forgotten either, yet it feels like she might have, judging by how she pops up in his workshop, brimming with barely repressed energy.

"I thought we could go out for drinks," she says perkily, though he notes she clutches her bag tighter belying the casualness of her voice. "Celebrate everyone being alive."

He's skeptical of the idea, peering up at her with no reply, until she bites her lip and he can tell there's more to this than he currently knows.

She looks triumphant and like she's resisting a full out grin as she desposits a small prescription bottle down on the desk next to him, as if it's meaningful.

"Fomepizole. It's a competitive inhibitor of the enzyme alcohol dehydrogenase, _meaning_ it will inhibit the breakdown of the alcohol in your liver-" she pauses for the briefest breath before continuing, "-without affecting the rest of your metabolism."

Caitlin stands in front of him, bright eyed at this breakthrough, and he wonders if he's the first person she's told. It feels like it. It feels like for once he's come before Barry, that his existence is not relegated to an afterthought - an inconvenience that must be dealt with.

He decides attempted oblivion would be nice.

He drinks too much too fast, and for whatever reason - solidarity perhaps - Caitlin tries to keep up. A few drinks in, she convinces him to go for outlandish cocktails and he doesn't resist because it doesn't matter much what form the alcohol comes in.

She's rambling in no time and he doesn't even hear most of it, but it's comforting, providing a background sense of companionship he rarely gets. He stops drinking more for her benefit than his own, being better aware of the effect it is having on her and recognising they're both past the line of what is a good idea.

As he starts to slowly sober up, his focus drifts back to her enthused ranting about a drug that could in fact sober them up in no time at all. Science never seems to fail to bring out the passion in Caitlin Snow.

"But no, we can't have that! Because...because people would kill themselves with it. By accident. Drink, sober up, drink, sober up, drink, fall down dead. Bam! Because people are-"

"People are stupid," he preemptively agrees, finding his words coming out strangely - not quite slurred but not as smoothly derisive like he intended.

"But...they don't mean to be," she says, bobbing her head, clearly aiming to defend humanity from his judgment, "They just don't know neuroscience. They don't know...what's good for them."

And he turns to her to find her big brown eyes staring up at him, like she's waiting for something in return, but he doesn't know what it is - what to say. She has this quality about her that at times like this makes him uncertain, because he doesn't know what she expects from him. He just knows she expects something more. She doesn't give up on him like his critical inner voice often tells him people should.

"I don't feel so good."

The spell of that odd moment is broken by the sense of deja vu her quiet admission invokes.

There's no karaoke this time and it's him who is drinking to forget. Probably both of them will regret it in the morning, but he isn't sure it's just the hangover he'll regret. He hadn't wanted to feel again, but Caitlin and co. are pulling him back in. She's attempting to build something new upon the ruins of a friendship that is from long ago. It would be easier not to care, but it doesn't seem like she's giving him a choice. At least that's how he justifies it to himself, for why he doesn't push back against her efforts. He doesn't draw her closer either though.

He speeds her back to her apartment door and leaves her to her own devices because he's not Barry and he doesn't want to retread old ground.

* * *

They make it a habit.

When the date of Ronnie's proposal to her comes around, they pass the evening together drinking in the woods Ronnie once spoke those words in, with Caitlin reminiscing tearfully about her late husband. He's not there to provide a peptalk, be a shoulder to cry on, or do some other Barry Allen-esque condolence. That's not what they're being to each other thesedays. He barely says a thing himself. What he does is the very basic function he can perform, of being there, letting her be heard, letting her pain be seen, recognised for what it is. He's learnt it can be enough to dull the misery.

She in turn distracts him on Barry and Iris's wedding anniversary, deciding to regale him with some truly atrocious singing at the bar she takes them to. All the better to mock; he's not as polite about her 'talents' as Barry would be. He thinks she knows and takes advantage of it to prevent him wallowing.

And when he sees her hands shaking, unable to stand being anywhere near the breach room one day randomly, he recalls watching Zoom destroy her happiness in front of her there – a hand as surely cutting through her heart as it had through "Jay's". He knows sometimes memories resurface so vividly when you least expect. He takes her hand to still it, a glance up to check if it is what she wants. Their silent communication is an echo of the old friendship in him, and he leads her away from there, away from S.T.A.R. Labs, no questions asked. The only thing he does that day is take her as far away from the pain as it's possible to.

Any time one of those kinds of dates - of heartbreak or of grief - comes up, one of them will find the other, make it known subtly and take some time out, usually drinks included. He doesn't always take the enzyme inhibitor when they do, but it's an option she keeps open for him and he's grateful to have the possibility. Occasionally, he simply doesn't want to remember what's in his head - he has so many lifetimes of painful memories, full of shame and regret.

They share these melancholic moments with each other, with no pretenses and dry gallows humour. He'd given in to this at first because he couldn't bring himself to pull away from what she offered, what she needed, but strangely enough he finds it makes it easier for him too, to live with how his life is, knowing there is always this to fall back on when the bad days strike.

They don't do normal celebrations. He ignores her birthday, knowing others have that in hand. Others – her friends and family - they will tease a smile, congratulate her. That isn't what they do, they commiserate.

He stays away from them all for Barry's birthday - not able to share in a day it will feel he's encroaching on and is denied ownership of. He also stays away for the solemn date no one knows here: when another Barry created him to die. That's the closest he has to his own birthday - a day that he doesn't have it in him to celebrate and he can't burden Caitlin with to commiserate. He can't paste a convincing wry smile over the overwhelming pain the thought of that day causes. No morbid jokes could disguise the wondering it inspires about if he had died as intended, if it would have been better for everyone.

He knows she would tell him to look at what he does have, what he's gotten back of a life he'd been so close to ruining. Perhaps he doesn't share this day and the thoughts it brings because he wants one thing to himself, even if it is to mope hopelessly about. He's gotten used to opening up to her again, differently than when he was Barry, but he knows what is in store when he goes to her. He doesn't hide in the shadows of his darkness, and she doesn't pretend to be perfectly controlled. They accept what each of them is, everything right down to the ugly. Anger and bitterness are old friends they settle into, emotions made more mellow as their burdens lift over time with the act of sharing.

* * *

Somewhere in amongst the time he and Cait spend together, he starts to want excuses to do what they do, but he doesn't look for any additional ones because it wouldn't feel right somehow. There is a routine to it - a definition he won't break.

He's comfortable with the level of attachment he has to the people around him, anything more would test his limits. He still doesn't _want_ to care, but he's accepted it as inevitable he will and can even see that it could be a strength if he let it, some day far, far in the future. But he's not ready to fall back into that pit of emotions he used to live with daily. For one thing, he's severely out of practice, his emotional range still stunted and mostly consisting of the negative, working up to barely past indifference, except where a victory is concerned. So he'll control this descent – he can be measured about it, retain his boundaries, make sure it doesn't go sideways. He can't afford to let things get away from him, enough is unknown as it is in this divergent timeline.

He doesn't know how Caitlin feels about their time together, about the tentative connection between them. She doesn't push for other interactions than their commiserating, so he presumes it is all she needs from him. There's an unwelcome pang at that thought, but also a little pride that it appears to be something she can't get from the others - it's theirs alone.

Eventually he starts to realise there is something else she can't get from any of them here. She never says as much, but he sees the signs that indicate she is trying to date again. She's twitchy about hiding her browsing on her phone in breaks, and there's the anticipation at the notifications too - bitten down smiles over text messages as she attempts to curb her giddiness. Then there is the change of shoes in her bag some days, ready for her to switch into more fashionable, less practical ones than the ones she tends towards in this job. Fancier jewellery gets swapped in and makeup touched up in the bathroom before she leaves, indicating she's off out post-work.

When she starts to get antsy about how long the mission is taking one evening, clock watching and lamenting about it from time to time, he knows he can't be the only one aware that something is going on. There are some looks shared between Cisco and Iris when Cisco gets back, Barry having gone to Iron Heights to secure the meta captured. Neither mention what they've noticed, leaving it up to Cait to bring it up when she is ready to. Iris fixes him with a curious look as Cait strides out, obvious that she knows he knew too and has an opinion on it he can't be bothered to decipher. He avoids the whole team for a few days following that exchange, not willing to get sucked into the drama.

* * *

He expects Caitlin will tell him when she needs him next, like he would for her, like they've done for each other the last year or more.

She doesn't, but she's no good at hiding her disappointment. She's there later than she needs to be and she keeps looking at her phone. He can tell by how she's dressed up her work outfit and added fresh, darker makeup, that she had plans. And yet she's still here. He watches her fish out her phone one more time and unsuccessfully ring someone up - a call which goes directly to voicemail.

He stands in the middle of the Cortex, hands in his pockets and says nothing.

She sighs and admits her defeat, "I was stood up."

It's the first time she's spoken about her going on dates and he doesn't know what she wants him to say when she hasn't appeared to want anyone to say anything about this development of hers in general. Should he put forth a pathetic and pithy 'sorry' he isn't sure he means precisely? He can't do a mushy heart felt commiseration, and he doubts a verbal lashing at the guy who dared to stand her up would go down well when she tends to see the good in everyone; she'd probably defend the guy, able to think of a dozen reasons not to be mad. Should he be putting forth cheesy superlatives to boost her self-esteem after the hit it has taken? That's not his style though. He's out of his depth. He doesn't even know how he feels himself.

Caitlin continues, filling in the silence, "I don't have a ride home. He was meant to pick me up here."

Knowing Cait, he doubts that is her fishing for a lift, but it inspires him anyway. A plan forms. He flashes in and out in the blink of an eye.

"We're going for drinks," he tells her, and she stares at him, mouth a little agape with surprise.

"You changed," she points out meekly.

He half rolls his eyes, mostly avoiding her gaze as it tracks over the dark grey three piece suit he'd paired with an equally dark blue shirt. "Didn't want to be underdressed," he retorts, indicating to her own relatively fancy attire. Despite the perfectly reasonable explanation, she seems a bit stuck on this detail. He supposes it isn't common she sees him out of the dark denim and tshirts that are practically a uniform for him, more so even than his polymer suit Cisco had made him once he'd been reintegrated into the Team Flash structure.

She looks uncertain how to take his invitation. Maybe he'd read it all wrong and she does simply desire going home - solitude. When that worry occurs, he has to swallow down a spike of dissapointment of his own, and the looming sense of embarassment at having _made an effort_. He blanks his mind as quickly as possible, aiming to distance himself from those alien emotions. He tries to be patient, to not assume what she wants, as he walks around to her side of the console. He stretches his hand out, wondering what exactly he's offering other than his willingness to do what she needs.

For him it feels like an eternity, doubt starting to suffocate his confidence at the action as it drags on. In truth, the moment spans just a couple of seconds before Caitlin takes his hand, her cool fingers wrapping around his warm ones steadily. The gesture chases away his doubt and prompts her to find her voice again, "I know a new place we can go."

He takes them to the upmarket cocktail bar she gives directions for and is pleased to see her glee at the extensive menu. He doesn't have any of the concentrated Fomepizole with him, meaning the drinks are much more for her benefit than his but he joins in despite that, able to enjoy the taste at least. There's a niggling thought about whether he should try to help set her up, whether that fits what their relationship is. Logically, she could find someone to drown her sorrows with here, a substitute for her anticipated date, but she seems content to do that with him...Then she blurts out much the same thought in reverse, trying to do that for him, which has a weird type of irony there.

"I could be your wingman!" Caitlin exclaims, like it is a brilliant idea she's been bombarded with and can't wait to share. "Wing- _woman_. Wingperson?" she asks, getting distracted by the insignificant detail of what to call her suggested role. She's already over the line of tipsy and into the next category of drunkenness, so he flags up the bartender and orders two mocktails as he ignores her rambling.

"You don't like the idea?" she questions, pouting, somehow taking personal offense at his indignant rejection of it.

"I'm not exactly boyfriend material. I don't just have baggage, I have a cargo plane of issues," he deadpans, hating the truth and the sentiment of the statement.

"So, what, you plan to be alone for the rest of your life?" she asks, with a duck of her head as she does and emphasizing her disbelief with a raise of both her eyebrows at the same time. "That's a long time for a speedster you know," she points out, clearly disapproving. She's clapping her hand over her mouth once she cottons onto the unwiseness of saying it quite so loud in quite such a public place. "Sorry," she whispers when she removes her hand. The pause between her reactions had allowed him time to think though, for which he is grateful.

"What they see when they look at me is never going to be what I am. The might fall in love with the lie. The truth is uglier." He aims to proclaim it as matter-of-fact, but the bite of it betrays how he really feels, the release angry and bitter. He'd worry if not for the fact she's already familiar with that side of him. It's nothing new to her. He still wishes somehow he could shake that off this once and sidestep her pity. He hadn't entirely meant to talk about his actual scars – the emotional damage was bad enough, would be hard enough for someone to get past – but he can't escape the notion of how the transmogrifier could hide them, yet anyone getting close would know the difference. Any pretense he could put up would have the illusion broken sooner or later.

When he dares look to her, Caitlin is pensive in an open and exaggerated way due to her inebriated state. As she worries her lip caught between her teeth, he wonders what she's going to say – tell him off for being pessimistic and defeatist, make an offcolor joke – he can't predict what is going to come out of her mouth.

"I don't mind them," she says softly, reaching over to touch the afflicted area. He sucks in a breath, caught off guard equally by her motion and her declaration. The pad of her thumb ghosts across his cheek gently and he has to turn away.

"You're used to them," he replies defensively, not wanting to examine further how her words make him feel. He assumes she's desensitized to seeing the mess of skin on his righthand side, that knowing what he used to look like she has become adept at imagining him as the man he once was.

"It was shocking at first...but only because I wondered if they hurt, what had happened to you, how else you were different. Now I know. You've shown me who you are." Caitlin pauses and she reaches out a hand to rest on his knee unexpectedly, a single point of contact he expects is meant to be soothing. They don't usually touch each other more than necessary. Crowded up against each other at times when they sit, his carrying her as he speeds, her for medical reasons, but he's avoided anything else, too conscious of how he might crave more if he allows himself that after countless years of loneliness.

Caitlin continues on, oblivious to how startled he is at her move. "You've changed in a lot of ways, but you've also been there for me. Sometimes it feels like nothing has really changed at all, not in the ways that matter."

He's staring into his drink as he lets the words sink in and then she's offering up what sounds like it should be a platitude but it doesn't seem trivial coming from her.

"I'm glad you're you."

"And what is that?" his curiosity has him asking, feeling a weight settling on him at her comment.

"Alive, and-" He sees out of the corner of his eye she punctuates that interruption with her finger in the air, moving to pick up her drink to raise in a toast. "-my friend."

As he chinks his glass with hers, she's smiling at him like she's grateful he exists, which is definitely a new experience for him. One that renders him virtually speechless for the short while until they call it a night.

He's long since realised that's what they are again – friends - but neither of them has ever spoken of it. They're not Barry and Caitlin, that they both understand. They're Savitar and Caitlin, a different breed of friendship entirely.

* * *

For the third year in a row he avoids the labs on Barry's birthday.

Understandably, he doesn't expect it when his doorbell rings and he opens it to find Caitlin Snow on the threshold. A six pack in one hand and what looks like a box from the 52nd Street Bakery in the other. The beer isn't that unusual for one of their commiseration sessions, but this isn't a day they do that for. Caitlin has always been elsewhere, she has always been Barry's friend today – yet here she is with what he suspects is cake in tow.

Is it commiseration or celebration – is it somehow both? She couldn't have missed how he gets around this day - the black mood that grows, the sullenness descending upon him, and then those retreating after the day passes. She's observant, she must know why it is difficult.

He doesn't say anything, peering at her standing there awkwardkly. She makes a small half shrug with one shoulder, as if to say 'why not?'. There are so many why nots on the tip of his tongue but he represses them and instead opens the door wide, letting her in anyway because he fears turning her away - he doesn't exactly have many people who would choose to visit him.

Caitlin's never been here before. No one has. He's been to hers, to Cisco's, to the West's when he can stand feeling like an intruder there. He's aware now that she has come into his space that there really isn't anything much to look at. He's never suceeded at making his apartment look lived in; he's barely tried in all honesty.

He'd bought the place with his share of Wells' inheritance that Barry had insisted on splitting with him – one of several deeds intended to "be fair," as if any of them could make up for all the things he can never have back.

The apartment doesn't even have any identifying items. Those belong to Barry and another life. He could've replaced the photos - duplicated them like himself - but those of Barry and Iris and Joe do not feel like they belong to him anymore, and those of his parents would not fit with the cover story designed for him. So what he is left with is an unnaturally clean space, edgy and impersonal, fixed with chrome and wood, and dull tones that match his wardrobe - his evolved style. Barry had once tried to gift him some of his favourite clothes but he'd spurned that peace offering. Like so much in Barry's life, they weren't his anymore – he's moved beyond those things. Or at least he intended to.

Caitlin deposits the box and the bottles on his coffee table and leaves to root around in his kitchen drawers for a bottle opener he could find in a fraction of a second. He leaves her to do it to delay the upcoming conversation he dreads. When she comes back in, she sits down on the couch next to him and pops the top off two bottles. She also settles down a container with the enzyme inhibitor in beside his beer. He doesn't hesistate to knock a pill back, eager for the haze it will bring him tonight, and downs two beers in quick succession.

"Woah there, take it easy," she says lightly, her concern evident and her hand starkly touching his shoulder.

The small action of her hand holding him back is unexpected. It makes him freeze, but he doesn't look to her, afraid she will read him too well if she can catch his eye. He doesn't have his sharp wit about him to hide how he feels tonight. He settles for the much simpler strategy of being a jerk – aiming to make her leave before he starts to get used to the idea she'll stay for him – but he can't drum up any vehemence, it falls flat. "You shouldn't be here."

Naturally, it doesn't deter her, her compassion overruling any annoyance at his brusqueness. "I wanted to be here. You don't have to be alone."

Her hand is still on his shoulder, pressing tenderly in what he thinks is meant to be a reassuring squeeze and then another is added to his person, her other hand finding its resting place on his knee. Caitlin has never been expressly a touchy-feely person. It takes time for her to warm up to people, but she hasn't ever shied away from him, a behaviour he'd guessed was a relic from her interactions with Barry. Tonight she's making a special effort for him though, reaching out not just by coming over or with their token beer, but with something just for him, some undisclosed dessert and an unrelenting intention to be there for him.

Today of all days, he wasn't expecting to get anything for himself and it breaks him down. He swipes another beer and drinks the whole bottle before he can think better of it. He can't deal with the sudden influx of emotions when he's been steeling himself for having nothing - being as good as nothing - on this day that has been empty to him, devoid of joy. He's only made up for a fraction of his mistakes in these last few redemptive years of his and the many he never will be able to make up for have left him with a guilt that does tend to overwhelm him. He hasn't felt he's deserved happiness for far too long and hadn't expected anyone else would think him worthy of it either anytime soon.

"Did you just...I think you've had enough."

Her hand is on his cheek, trying to turn him to her. He allows it but won't look up at her. From the corner of his eye he can see her studying him, trying to figure him out.

"Did you hear me? You don't have to be alone, Barry."

 _That_ gets his attention, his focus snapping to her, and he can see from the way she is looking at him, the calculated gleam in her eyes, that it wasn't a mistake to call him that.

"You're still Barry. You've always been Barry. A different Barry, yes. Older, darker and maybe not in name anymore because it'd be confusing, and besides you asked us not to-" She goes from strong to rambling in a relatively short amount of time. Resolve faltering, she looks away. He watches her intently, sees her take a deep breath, and she pulls herself back to the certainty she'd initially found, "-but you still get to be Barry Allen. You get to have your birthday, same as he does."

There is a welling emotion inside him he can't pinpoint. For a moment he considers how satisfying it might be to dash the empty bottles against the nearest wall, watch the destruction as if in slow motion. To make his mark on the world in some small way, litter the floor with pellets of glass, disrupting the visage of his characterless apartment with something as broken as he has felt. It isn't exactly rage he's feeling though and what bubbles up is a choked sob instead.

He's quick to mask his face in his hands, bracing his elbows against his legs, hiding himself away. He's never cried in front of Caitlin before. She's seen _Barry_ 's tears but she has only witnessed his anger, his bitterness, his wry reflection, never his full on despairing regret – he feels weak and exposed even though it can't entirely be a surprise to her. Part of him resents her bringing this pain to the forefront, wrenching it out of him with her pushy version of kindness that won't let him simply be. However, he can't find it in him to push her away when she shifts closer and cradles him against her. He leans into her embrace, clinging to her, as he struggles to breath through the waves of sadness that grip him.

"It's okay. It gets better, I promise. Just remember, you're not alone now, Savi."

He notes she's back to using his new name, or at least the shortened version of it only her and Cisco ever get away with using. She's usually drunk when she says it, otherwise proper in calling him Savitar in full; here it's not quite the same as it has been before, not playful like when she's intoxicated, but personal, affirming who he is to her.

After a while, he regains some control, wipes his tears away on his sleeve, and straightens up into a more usual hug, taking what comfort he can without showing his face. He still can't look at her, hiding from her gaze in the crook of her neck. As he tries to find a calm he's very much aware of both his breathing and hers, of how they've fallen in sync, and of just how intimate they are at present.

Caitlin brings a hand up to back of his neck unexpectedly and he feels the hairs there stand on end, a sense of energy surging between them. He withdraws a bit, his cheek brushing against her cheek as he does, making his breathing stutter briefly at yet more contact. He continues the slow withdraw just enough to look her in the eye, trying to read what's contained there but he doesn't recognise it, it's something new to him.

His lips are so close to hers, each tiny movement bringing them nearer, building up the anticipation of what is coming. He doesn't rush, letting her have time to stop him, but willing her not to.

When they finally meet, it is in a brief, experimental kiss - light and sweet, an invitation to more. Resting a little apart, he feels relieved knowing Caitlin had moved towards him too at the last second. They quickly fall back into each other's orbit, the second kiss turning heated as she pulls him hungrily to her with the hand on the back of his neck. He _wants,_ and wants to be wanted, and she doesn't disappoint, showing him the same with her enthusiasm.

Eventually they stop, each breathless. That's when it gets awkward. Caitlin looks distinctly flushed in a way he could get used to, and she's also trying to avoid looking at him. She's asking if he wants any cake, and he suspects what just happened is something she needs time to process. She's not denying it, just leaving it be, something to deal with another time. Which he starts to think is entirely sensible when the room is suddenly spinning.

"Cake is not a good idea unless you want it on your shoes."

That dispells the tension in the room, getting an admonishing look from her at it, and then she's tugging him up, guiding him to the bedroom.

"Time for you to sleep this off," she says, sounding like she's slipping into her doctoring persona.

When they get to the bedroom he speed changes out of his jeans, not wanting to sleep in them, but leaves on his boxers and a tshirt, so as to not give Cait the wrong idea by sleeping in nothing like he normally would or undressing in front of her in a noticeable manner. He speeds into bed too, so she doesn't have a chance to see how thoroughly he was affected by her. He almost throws up for his efforts.

Caitlin approaches him to sit on the side of the bed and looks bemused at his seemingly unnecessary use of speed and its consequences. He manages to dampen the queasiness down and her amusement disappears rapidly, replaced by a seriousness, leaving the air thick with something unsaid.

"Stay."

It's not a demand, nor a plea, but something inbetween. He can see as she stares down at him it's a request she considers, but she also looks like she doesn't know what to make of it in the aftermath of their more or less sucking face.

He watches her leave the room without another word and ponders morosely if it was too much, an overstep on his side. He feels doubly sick at the thought and closes his eyes, intent to go sleep if he can and figure out the gravity of the situation when he's sober.

He wakes up groggily from his dozing a few minutes later to see Caitlin place a glass of water on his bedside table. He expects her to leave - her duty of care done in keeping him hydrated - but she walks around to the other side and climbs onto the bed, laying ontop of the covers, a choice he eyes with interest before he turns on his side under the covers.

As he is drifting off, he feels the springs move, and then dip again as she gets underneath the covers and curls up against him. There is a bizarrity to being spooned by Caitlin Snow whilst the room is still spinning for him, but it's a comfort to have her next to him. She strokes his hair gently and something in him feels like it is waking up - a flicker of hope inside his heart - something he's been missing, not because he couldn't have it, but because he wouldn't let himself have it. But maybe he can stomach it, maybe it's worth the risk. Whether he's recognised it or not, he's had something to lose again for a while; there's no point in refusing to see what's in front of him.

* * *

 **End note:** If you're wondering what science Caitlin was babbling about mid fic when drunk it's a drug that's an EtOH receptor antagonist, Ro15-4513, developed as a sober pill that apparently does work to stop impairment caused by alcohol but doesn't stop some of the other effects of ethanol on the body. So if you were to keep drinking and taking the pill to sober up, then drinking more and building up the level of ethanol in your system, you could feel fine and sober because of the pill but there would still be increasing damage happening in the background to the lipid bilayer from the ethanol. And the lipid bilayer is vital for transmitting messages from your brain to your body for things like keeping breathing. That's a condensed version, there's a lengthy post about it over on tumblr from someone who studied neuroscience that I can point people to for anyone interested.


	6. Deserve Your Silence

**A/N:** Wow, it's been almost a year since I updated this one-shot collection. I never meant to have it be so long! I was on a roll writing these until the heatwave hit last summer and I couldn't sleep/think for several months much less write. Then this piece I eventually got to writing has been tricky to finish.

I toyed with the idea of not including this chapter in the fic, because it is very different in tone to the other chapters and has Savifrost implied too but decided it is still Savisnow, however tragic. But I warn this is very dark and is not at all happy. Savitar isn't redeemed in this and it's heavy angst for Caitlin, including what could be considered major character death (via death of personality), so if that's not something you want to read you may want to skip this chapter.

Also, S4 spoilers ahoy! Set in the original timeline that was referenced in 3x19 by future!Barry, where Savitar and Killer Frost teamed up for 4-5 years until Barry finally took him down, not having known who he was. DeVoe also happened then as far as the show implied, since Abra Kadabra mentioned both Savitar and DeVoe as Barry's biggest foes, plus Savitar mentioned DeVoe in 3x23. This is assuming that Savitar and KF cross paths with DeVoe eventually and that what happens in 4x18 with Frost disappearing also happens in this doomed timeline too but for different reasons and in a very different context.

Big thanks to both shyesplease and unwittingcatalyst for betareading and helping me _finally_ finish this.

* * *

 **Deserve Your Silence**

In all the time since he killed Iris West, Savitar and Killer Frost have been virtually unchallenged. The Flash has tried and failed to ensnare him multiple times, growing more pathetic in each of his attempts and creeping closer to being who Savitar needs him to be. He's still waiting patiently for the day Barry recognizes exactly how broken he is and judges himself, _themselves_ , worthless enough to be expendable in his pursuit of revenge. The thought of it haunts Savitar bizarrely, a double-edged sword of heady need and deep revulsion.

Lately Barry's been too caught up with another foe, DeVoe, a fact that Savitar has used to his advantage. DeVoe has all but ignored him and Frost, until now. Savitar finds himself crushed to the floor, body like lead as Killer Frost attempts to spear DeVoe with an icicle. She's too wrapped up in a desire to hurt, her special brand of cold rage pointedly directed at DeVoe in retaliation, to think straight it seems. But then she doesn't know DeVoe, she never lived through that part of Team Flash history like he did, when he was first Barry. He sees her mistake too late and can do nothing to stop it – she touches DeVoe.

"Melt," DeVoe intones somberly yet with satisfaction.

Just like that Frost is gone. A shellshocked Caitlin Snow stands in the decrepit warehouse that is their lair and DeVoe blips back to his pocket dimension without a further word.

Savitar's trapped, waiting for DeVoe's power stolen from Null to wear off, when he hears her start to sob. Caitlin crumples to her knees and he hears the choked gasps between the heaves as she tries to regain control of her emotions. She fails and so he is a captive audience to her breakdown.

He hasn't seen anyone cry in years, except Barry whose pain he is inured to. He hasn't seen Caitlin Snow in years. He honestly never expected to come face to face with her, not in this part of the loop at least. He'd really rather not sit and listen to her but he has no choice. The rawness of her cries dredge up feelings he had done so well to banish – he can't afford empathy with the plan he's had in mind, but she is there and he is at the mercy of her spectacle until he is free. She pays him no mind at all, he'd almost feel insulted if he truly cared what she thought of him.

Finally he can flex his toes a little, and shortly after his mass returns to normal rapidly, nothing restraining him anymore. He stands up with speed and ease, itching to move again, instead he stands there regarding Caitlin Snow, her tears and anguish appearing frozen in Flashtime as he circles around her. Without her powers, she is inconsequential, but something in him reminds him he needs, if not her, then Frost back. Frost is part of the loop, part of his becoming – the one who accepts him, who pushes him over from a remorseful disbelieving time remnant into someone willing to fight for his survival, exactly as she had. Frost being gone isn't part of his plan. Caitlin Snow wrecked and weak in their lair isn't part of his plan. Frost knows what words unlock his potential. Caitlin Snow could very well achieve the exact opposite if given the opportunity.

Shifting back to the tedious speed of mere mortals, he leans over and takes her by the arms, pulling a dazed Caitlin Snow upright. Despite handling her with a befitting dispassion, she seems to mistake his action for some sort of comfort and before he knows it she is clinging to him. Caitlin clings to him just like he recalls her doing after Ronnie died and the sense memory triggers a weird stomach curdling feeling he can't stand. He pushes her away indelicately and she looks up, surprised for a moment. Then reality catches up with Caitlin once more. The horror as she looks upon him, not Barry, not her friend, and not even her ally now that she's not hidden deep behind the icy front.

Her anguish is quickly replaced by a look that he would more readily associate with Frost, but thinking about the way it looks on her much warmer complexion, it has more in common with how she had regarded Zoom long ago. How she had recoiled and bit back with venom when Hunter Zolomon had talked of playing at a hero.

"You murdered Iris," she spits out at him, followed by her face crumpling when the truth catches up to her. "And I helped you... _Oh God_ , Cisco's hands."

She covers her sob with a hand, as if she can keep it in, before moving both her hands to cup around her mouth and nose as she tries to slow her breathing. She's almost hyperventilating now and he feels some sympathy pass through him, for how he had felt once upon a time when he'd found out he was Savitar. He hadn't been so different then. He'd denied, tried to shake it off, but when it was there in front of him, no ifs and buts...written out in the marks on his flesh Frost had traced reverently, welcoming him to something he couldn't fathom. The pain had never stopped. All this and all he had managed was to ensure every version of Barry Allen was as equally damned.

That's how he knows what to say to her, to convince her to cooperate in getting Frost back. "You want the pain to go away."

Except Caitlin doesn't react like he expects. He's spent too long out of her presence to know her as well as the other him would. Her reply is somehow defiant and desperate all at once.

"I can't live like this," she says, an echo of what she had told Cisco on her deathbed, _I would rather die than become Killer Frost._ And Savitar should know it well too, but it's a sentiment so easily forgotten after this stretch with Frost who has as much fight in her as he.

"You're not destined to die," he says with some spite, because she doesn't get to check out of this story. She's meant to be with him at the beginning. She's meant to be with him _until the end_.

"Who cares!" she screams in his face, not holding back. His claim to Godhood and the threat of his abilities are meaningless to her now; she has no fear.

He turns away, swallows hard, suddenly lost at this development, with no clue what to do. He's always had a plan as Savitar. Everything has always been clear to him. Hard and brutal, but crystal clear, fueled by a ruthless certainty in his future.

"Why do _**you**_ care? You're not my friend." Every word she projects indicates her hate for the idea that he could care. He represses a flinch at hearing _her_ voice, not Frost's, but the voice of an old friend talk of him like that after days and months in another tone, another attitude, after getting used to hearing very similar inflections voiced in support.

Frost was cold, but she was right behind him every step of the way, and he'd obviously relied a little too much on that. He shouldn't need Frost like that, he shouldn't need anyone. Frost was meant to be a pawn; useful in her placement and in the sacrifice of Snow. But with what they've been through together she turned from simply another pawn to him to being vital; surviving everything to become a queen on the other side of his chessboard. In the process he made her into more than he ever intended her to be to him. Here she is, _as_ she was, as the ghost of her former self ripping a hole in his plan and simultaneously clawing at the wound where his heart used to be.

Here she is, just as powerful in her absence.

"You were there when I was created," he starts, voice low, annoyed at having to explain himself. Twisting round to face her, he startles Caitlin who nevertheless stays right where she is, tipping her chin up as if to dare him somehow to try and intimidate her _properly_.

"You're the one who showed me the way when I first broke." He tries to say it dispassionately, but by the way her expression softens, he knows has failed. There's no distance to be had from that trauma – he didn't ever stop breaking, and by now he's been broken too many times, just like her. She falters in her stare, as if she can't bear to relive the tragedy their lives have become. But it must flash before her anyway and dredge up once again what those hands did and what words her lips spoke - not things she would do or say if she'd had a choice.

"Don't you mean Frost," she corrects, bristling at the idea they are one and the same. Her naivete and obliviousness would amuse him if it weren't so endlessly frustrating.

"Snow, the difference between you," he says as he touches her with a single finger, poking at her shoulder, "and Frost was only ever a technicality. You held it all in. You held yourself back."

He steps away again, away from her even though it feels futile, like he can never escape her with how entwined their stories are – but right now they're meeting at the wrong point, a course correct is badly needed. Swinging round to face her, at a greater and more comfortable distance, he delivers the crushing blow.

"You locked it all away, until you exploded, and -" he stops for a second to huff with amusement, "- was that one hell of a fireworks display. Quite the show, bravo."

He finishes with a slow clap and predictably she looks distraught. Only, his satisfaction in garnering the reaction he was aiming for takes a nosedive at her pitiful quivering lip and the threat of fresh tears she's trying desperately to hold back.

"We'll get your powers back. **You** won't have to feel anything ever again."

He doesn't say it to comfort her – being Frost again isn't a comfort after all – but it's a plan. Her desire to not suffer this existence and his need for Frost meet in the middle, so he will give her a pitied compromise. It's not exactly the release she seems to want but it will achieve the same result overall for her. He envies that promise of her numbness. He's been chasing that for so long, unable to obtain it for himself, and here she is, with him _having_ to hand it to her on a silver platter just to keep his own timeline intact. Fate never ceases to be cruel.

* * *

He goes to a lot of trouble getting Caitlin Snow every piece of equipment her sciency heart could want, presented in aid of figuring out her Frost-less conundrum. The problem is she isn't onboard with his plan. Her heart isn't in it, it isn't in anything.

She doesn't comply with his wishes right away. It's not until she's experienced several drawn out days of nothingness that she comes around. Tied up to her chair with too much time to contemplate, her life doesn't sit well with her for long. He knows Dr. Snow needs to work, she always had liked to work through their crises – her brain wants input or else she'd stew on the data she already has, worrying it over and over in her mind.

Once she starts, she's diligent about investigating, though he still keeps a close eye on her. Every moment she is awake, so is he. Forsaking much of his own rest, he becomes sleep deprived and paranoid of the possibilities this change opens up. He can't tell how events will unfold and is wary of her every movement, waiting to see if she'll try anything unexpected. He's not afraid of what she'll do to him, more concerned she might do something stupid, like seek to end it all, and he can't have that. As it turns out, she doesn't try anything. She seems to have come to a defeated acceptance of her situation and can't find the passion to resent Frost for having what she doesn't want anymore. The damage to her life was done as Frost and Frost can live with it.

He's relieved when she finds out she has other cryogenic DNA. Goodbye to the possibility he'd been entertaining of introducing dark matter again. He won't have to risk kidnapping Harry to arrange tearing her apart cell by cell like he once did to himself. After that, all she cares about, if she cares about anything at all, is finding a solution to their mutual problem.

He's as accommodating as is reasonable under the circumstances, though she doesn't help matters, only taking time to ask for what her work needs. He gets her food on a strict schedule - it appears regardless of her hunger, take it or leave it. As with everything else, she never says what she wants, so she gets the scant (to him) leftovers of whatever he's feeling like at the time. Another mattress is deposited near the makeshift lab, since she won't set foot in Frost's room. New clothes are given to shed her reminder of Frost, practical and plain ones in any colour that isn't blue. He even provides her with a lab coat she could feel at home in, a small comfort allowed to herself - she resisted for a moment but ultimately gave in like he was sure she would.

He continues to watch her, a tedious surveillance to make sure she doesn't derail the timeline with anything ill advised. Patience isn't something he's short of but it grates on him to spend time near her. Every further minute brings up more of his past to the front of his mind. It also exposes him to how she is, her old habits risk him falling back into his. He has to actively resist the urge to break the tension with a joke, to tell her to look after herself - these things _Barry_ would do. The most he allows himself is a pointed remark about her lack of sleep.

"You want to go for a world record, how about fastest at unlocking your icy alter ego. Longest time awake isn't any use to me."

The snap of her head and the glare she sends him almost has him thinking he'd triggered something frosty within her. No such luck, but Caitlin Snow regards him with just as much coolness as her other side had ever mustered. And then she gets up. Unexpected. He raises an eyebrow as she all but closes the distance, holding off a few paces away from him.

"Working hard _is_ me looking after myself. I don't want to be here a second longer than I have to."

The conversation is clearly over. She turns on her heels quickly at that and gets back to work. She stays up for 36 hours straight and, despite her claims, it seems more like an action designed to irritate him than something that is necessary to make a breakthrough.

There is no breakthrough. Everything required _is_ there inside her. The question is, what will bring it out? Individually, both of them have spent far too long contemplating what it is that makes Frost tick, and Savitar can only come to one conclusion.

"You have to die so Frost can live."

The conclusion eats away at him because _what if it fails_. No Snow, no Frost, no hope. He corrects himself there. He'd find a way around it, of course. Creative use of timelines is a specialty of his and, at worst, the timeline could take a little more fuckery, but... This isn't how the timeline is meant to go.

"I thought you didn't want me to die?" she asks, a considered look on her face. He can't read her well enough to know if she is hiding any fear. He doesn't know if any has crept into her after these weeks spent in isolation, in knowing in a small way what it could be to live again. Not that Caitlin Snow has much left to live for.

It isn't her fate to die again anymore than it is Barry's to escape his suffering. Who the _her_ is there becomes meaningless to him. There isn't an absolute line between Frost and Snow anymore, nor this need of his for her that has grown over time. She's part of his plan and he doesn't want to give that up, but all he has to do is give up one for the other. A simple swap that's only complicated by old feelings that need to die too. Somehow the strategy tastes sour as he speaks it.

"You've died before and Frost rose like a phoenix out of your metaphorical ashes." He tries to sound sure about it and can't tell if he's fooling either of them. The end is here with them, air thick with a tension of what if. Caitlin Snow merely nods. No questions, no idea how it will come about or what his plan will entail. There is no putting it off now that he's said it, not a second longer than he has to.

That one last ditch effort is how he finds himself staring out across the ice shelf from the tallest mountain in Antarctica. The _Aurora australis_ hang in the sky and Caitlin Snow stands unmoving next to him as he looks to her in Flashtime. Her expression is almost peaceful for once, stood there unknowingly surrounded by natural yet deadly beauty. Once he goes back to real time she'll freeze rapidly. He'd considered a quick hand to her heart, but that hadn't seemed right, not that any of it does. It has to be the cold, the one thing Frost would welcome, playing to her strength.

He touches her shoulder, bringing her into Flashtime. Delaying the inevitable. A goodbye he never said the first time. Flashtime protects them from the worst of the cold, no windchill to worry about when you move so fast, but she gasps at the cold air without a Speedster's metabolism to heat her up. She recovers swiftly, eyes widening as she glances around her.

"Vinson Massif -"

"- and the polar lights," she finishes for him, breaking out in an awed smile. "I always wanted to see them before..."

"I promise it will be quick. Minutes. You'll have your oblivion soon enough."

"Just one thing before I go…" Her words are said softly, and with a slight chatter of her teeth, but he hears a demand, sees a demand, in how she regards him with purpose.

"I've wondered so many times what it would be like if..." He thinks she can't bear to finish the thought but she does with action what she can't voice. Reaching up, she pulls on his short lapels and kisses him.

Frost has kissed him before on occasion (sometimes the deadly variety) and Frost has kissed Barry (only the deadly variety, once or twice). Maybe Snow was even conscious of those kisses, he really doesn't know precisely how things work with her and Frost sharing since Frost wasn't forthcoming on the practicalities. It tended to be calculated with Frost - a distraction, a play, or a move of some kind, something else he hadn't figured out. Perhaps this isn't much of a departure. He's never kissed Caitlin Snow as any version of himself, but he's under no illusion she is kissing him really.

Physically she curls around him, body already shuddering and seeking out his residual warmth. But she is kissing a Barry from days gone by, a ghost, to match the fleeting idea of them that never came to be. A last choice, wanting to feel for real before she dies, because the next time Frost takes over, she will let her. She wants to disappear and never come back, but she gets _this_. For a moment, he lets himself just react too. No plan. He vibrates to warm up and she groans into his mouth at the sensation. It's easy to forget then what they are here to do.

But she pulls back, licking her lips a little. She tries to take a step back, wobbling dangerously, not used to moving in Flashtime. He drops them out of Flashtime finally, and she takes another more sure-footed step, separating herself, leaving his tempting heat.

"I almost wish I could say I hope you find what you are looking for, but I think we're past that now, d-don't you? We looked in the wrong places and m-missed what we h-had."

The wind picks up, a deeper chill settling into her bones at the temperature drop. It will be over sooner. However, she's struggling to get her words out as the cold gets to her, but she is determined to have her final say.

"T-there's no going back. Only one...one way out. Goodbye, Savitar."

She turns away from him, futilely wraps her arms around her torso, and gives her full attention to the view as if she is the only person in the world on that mountain top. Her teeth are chattering non-stop. He still watches her watching the sky, her eyes flitting about, following the lights like they are enrapturing.

He feels a creeping sense of fear almost for her. It's foolish. He knows he can stop her before she dies if he wants - he could warm her up. There's a science station barely a split second away for him, with medical supplies. She's in no danger except for what they have agreed to - that he has put into motion - yet his heart pounds in his chest rebelliously as he watches her turn incrementally blue. She turns blue but not the blue he's used to, growing still as he vibrates to keep warm. Part of him wants to touch her, to take away her suffering, but he can't. She suffers this so she will suffer no more afterwards. He bears witness. He waits with bated breath.

Frost will live. The whole point _is_ Frost will live, but Caitlin Snow is still dying again, right in front of him, and he can't not be affected. He doesn't move though, he doesn't stop it - it's necessary. Just like Iris bleeding out on the podium in his - _Barry's_ \- arms. Just like Cisco's hands shattering under her ice. Just like Wally breaking under his weight. But he still feels it each time, never as detached as he wants to be. **This** is why the pain doesn't stop. It was always coming and the difference is he embraces it fully. Bares himself, grits his teeth, but he'll make it through this obstacle course of a timeline. He'll get to the finish line.

Her breathing has gotten shallow. She looks to him, a look he doesn't know how to interpret, and she blinks a single time before her eyes slip closed and she slumps over.

He cradles her until there are no more puffs in the air, not warming himself during that time to avoid interfering. The cold bites into his flesh but it's a fraction of what she felt. Now she is truly numb, Caitlin has slipped away, and he fears he is wrong. He was betting everything on self preservation being the body's strongest instinct, that Frost would come to the fore when threatened. To take Caitlin Snow to the brink of death and have Frost resurge, stronger than ever.

There is no movement, no sound, only the wind and his racing heartbeat that betrays an anxiousness as he contemplates the mistake. He gets up, stumbling away from her body. Then he realizes she is turning paler still, not just her lips and her face, but the coldness tracing down her hair from root to tip until it is triumphant. Frost slips into place with it, her white locks gracing her visage alongside a familiar grin and the brilliant white glow of her unique eyes. The only snow that remains is the snowfall that drifts around Frost and the hard packed ground beneath them.

Frost twists towards him, eyes snapping to his and looking like she's considering something. He thinks for a moment this might be one of the rare occasions Frost will close the distance between them and design to kiss him, arms lacing around his shoulders. This would be one kiss he'd have no trouble interpreting. It could be a curt thank you to substitute what she couldn't bring herself to say, or even explainable by 'I almost died, so lets live a little'. But she doesn't do as he predicts. She stands back, meaningfully keeping the distance between them.

Perhaps it is for the best. To do nothing, say nothing of this night. Better to pretend Frost never left, that she was never stolen away in an instant – that he didn't trade one version of her for another, _with some regret_ where there should be none _._ That feeling, however fleeting, doesn't belong in this narrative of his he's built around Godhood and his supposed lack of humanity.

Frost turns away, puts her hands on her hips and taps her foot impatiently, waiting for him to get back to business and somewhere more interesting than atop this cold rock. It appears there is an unspoken agreement to ignore the fact that his carefully constructed plan had crumbled before them both. Ultimately, it isn't significant. He adapted. Reset what mattered most. Time to move on.

As he picks up Frost and heads to Central City, the mood is solemn and he is grateful for the blissful quiet running provides.

Neither of them say anything when they are back in the lair, but he sees Frost's distaste in Caitlin's clothes as she starts removing them on her way towards her room, flinging a cardigan into a damp patch on the floor. He isn't sure he can so easily shake off Caitlin Snow as she does, not after unexpectedly being forced to confront her suffering, to watch her go.

Everything he has done is necessary; he needed Frost back just as much as Caitlin Snow wanted to be gone. Yet there is a sting about it, like a lash come back round to bite into the hand that struck out. There's a tightness to his throat he has to swallow down, a familiar tightness from years prior. He's losing yet another part of Barry Allen with her, one he hadn't known he was still holding onto.

Frost is finally one person in total control of her body and mind. Uncontested. The victor. And so is he.


End file.
